


three summer days

by keatstar



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, I tried to make it more bitter sweet than sad, end of the world AU, they die at the end but it's not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keatstar/pseuds/keatstar
Summary: It's quite unfortunate that Yasmine won't live to see her twenty-fourth birthday. It would have been a fun party; her parents would come, some of her friends would be there too. Perhaps even the boys, who she hasn't spoken to in so long.But she'll be gone by then. They will be too.
Relationships: Paul McCartney/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	three summer days

It's quite unfortunate that Yasmine won't live to see her twenty-fourth birthday. It would have been a fun party; her parents would come, some of her friends would be there too. Perhaps even the boys, who she hasn't spoken to in so long. Surely they would want to see her for her birthday.

But she'll be gone by then. They will be too.

There's been nothing but despair and chaos on the telly. The end of the world is fast approaching and there will be no grand plans, no last minute idea to save them. It's inevitable, they've said. Their time is up. As the news spread, people began reacting in different ways; many have run to church, others are finally indulging in their sin. Might as well go out with a bang, eh?

Yasmine has succumbed to neither of these philosophies. Perhaps it's her way of living her final days in denial, pretending as if everything is normal. Her daily schedule doesn't change much. She still gets up in the morning to make breakfast and care for her cat, Biscuit. She'll have a cuppa while reading her favorite book or sometimes a new release. She listens to music. Today, it's the Beatles on the turntable. The voices that she know so well sing to her and for a moment, it feels like it used to. Like nothing has changed.

Paul doesn't know how his music brings her comfort. He wouldn't, considering how they parted ways. It makes her wonder, does he think of her too?

It's a question that's popped up in her head ever more frequently since the announcement of Doomsday.

. . .

The Beatles were working on their upcoming album when they received the news. They hardly believed it at first, how could they? The idea that the world could just end on such short notice is ludicrous. The idea that they can die is ludicrous. Not the Beatles, who have ruled the world since their breakout in '62. Not them, who are so young and full of life.

John has a son, which is probably the reason why he seems to take it the hardest. He leaves the studio in tears, and immediately returns home to his family. Ringo and George have wives they have to comfort. Only Paul is left. He sits with his bass guitar and mindlessly plucks the strings.

There's an old tune that he's never quite developed, one that stuck in his head years before. It's simple, not many notes, but it's warm and beautiful and lovely. It's one that he's tried so hard to forget.

The melody had the potential to become something great. He thinks that potential is still there. So, as he recalls all those old memories of her that held so much inspiration, he begins to write his last song.

. . .

During her last week, Yasmine finally decides to stop going to work. It's not like she'll need money for next month's bills. They say she's contributing to the breakdown of society; as people stop working and companies break down, people are denied the normalcy of their everyday life. But she'll be damned if she spends her final days at work.

Instead, she takes walks, buys new records, spends time with her brother. He's come back home to London since the news broke. Together they visit their favorite places, all the historic houses and buildings that have stood for centuries, that will soon cease to exist.

It's her last week when she receives a call from Paul. She has no idea who it might be when she answers it.

"Hey, Yaz," he says softly through the phone. It's a wonder that he still has her number. She lost his awhile back; his number is leaked so often to the public, he was constantly having to change it.

For a moment she pauses, breath catching in her throat, and wonders what to say. She settles with his name, something so foreign and familiar, and breathes it out. How long has it been since she last heard his voice? No vinyl could do it justice.

"Paul. It's so good to hear from you." Wrapping the phone cord around her finger, she rests her wait against the wall. "How have you been, love?"

It's strange. They used to talk so much. Yasmine has spent hours in this very spot, listening to him talk about the concerts and the fans and how much he missed her. They would laugh, he was always so funny. Her heart is heavy thinking of those easy days when love had been enough for the both of them, when their future together had still been a possibility.

"It's been difficult," he admits. He sounds hurt, tired, so unlike the boisterous Paul she remembers. The end days has that kind of affect on people. "I need to see you," he says, not wasting a moment on polite conversation.

I need to say goodbye, is what she knows he means. She blinks quickly as tears prick her eyes. Yes, it has been difficult. For the both of them.

For a moment, she hesitates. She's not sure if it's the right thing to do. She's not sure it won't only hurt her more. But even after everything, she trusts Paul. And she misses him too much to deny either of them this last chance.

Gripping the phone tighter in her hand, she finally asks, "When?"

He hums and her heart races. "No time to waste, I suppose."

. . .

They meet up three days before the end of the world, both holding a bottle of wine. It's not easy, but she manages to sneak her way into his hotel room without the fans noticing. Yes, the world is ending and the fans are still obsessed. Yasmine would probably go sooner than expected if they got their hands on her.

She barely has a moment to take him in before he ushers her inside. It's been ages since they've seen each other. He looks a little older, a little healthier. She wonders how she's changed and she wonders if he even notices.

It's a little awkward at first as they're reintroduced to each other. They drink their wine, tell inside jokes that they haven't heard in ages, ask about their new lives. As they fall into steady conversation, they drift closer to each other, as if gravity is pulling them in. At one point, she feels their knees begin to brush together, his arm behind her back. All of a sudden, they're seventeen again, love struck children too shy to make a move.

Paul coughs and pulls back, reaching for the one thing that has remained a constant throughout his life: his guitar. "There's this song I've been wanting to finish before..." he cuts off, almost embarrassed that he slipped and acknowledged reality. He doesn't have to finish for Yasmine to understand; it's a song he wanted to finish before the end, while he still had time.

When he plays, when he sings, it moves her to tears. Hoping he doesn't notice, she quickly collects to stray tears with her fingers, brushing them away as quickly as they fall. How unfair it all is. 

"It's beautiful," she whispers when he's finished.

"It's yours."

Her face falls into her hands as she tries to hide from him, tries to hide her breaking heart. If there had been any doubts before about his feelings for her, he just dismissed them. It thrilled and terrified and saddened her.

"I could use some air," she says through her tears.

"How about a walk?"

When she stands, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her to his side. It's not an attempt at romance but at comfort. His hand squeezes her arm gently and she manages to hold back her tears once again. With his hand falling to rest at the small of her back, he guides her outside.

It's late and much of the crowds have dispersed, but Paul still takes the precaution of donning a hat. It's not much of a disguise but it blocks much of his hair and eyes from view. It allows them to enjoy something they haven't been able to do together in years: walk down the street.

A comfortable silence falls over them. Yasmine breathes in the cool night air, trying to savor every lung full. Paul has dropped his arm but their shoulders still brush. Suddenly, he asks her about Biscuit, the ridiculous cat that he had always adored. And then they're talking again, one subject leads quickly into another, and she realizes remembers how much fun it could be with him.

The walk is long but they eventually find themselves standing at her doorstop. Their night is coming to an end but she's not ready.

She hesitates, hand resting on the doorknob and reaches deep down for her bravery. "I can't say goodbye again, Paul," she says quietly, staring down at their feet.

"Yasmine." He leans down, trying to catch her eyes. Slowly, she looks back up at him, and his lips curl into a soft smile. "I'm not going anywhere." She feels his hands on the back of her neck.

Lurching forward, her lips land on his. When she opens the door, he joins her inside.

. . .

She feels limp and boneless, ready to drift off into sleep. But she's terrified of it, of the darkness that will come. She's terrified of losing another second with him. So she stays awake, just a little bit longer, to watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes. The universe is losing something amazing, she thinks.

. . .

It's two days before the end of the world, and Yasmine can't pull herself away from bed. Every time she tries, she catches a glimpse of Paul's arms or hands or hair or eyes. His hands drag her back down, and they curl up on the bed facing each other, like children hiding in their fort. Their hands clasp each other, and they smile giddily, happy just to have this moment together.

He brushes her hair back off her face and whispers, "Lets go somewhere. Anywhere."

She thinks, what is the last place she wants to see before she goes? It has to be someplace close enough, somewhere they could drive to. And her eyes light up.

"Do you still have that place out in Scotland?"

. . .

Paul waits outside in the car. They didn't have to pack much, just clothes to sleep in and some food to eat.

Biscuit rubs against her legs. Oh, to be a cat, oblivious to what the future holds. Yasmine leans down to pick her up. She takes one last look at her home, at all her things that she treasured, all the memories made there. Then she turns, and shuts the door behind her.

While it once felt like a dreadfully long car ride, now it flies back. They sing along to the radio, she admires the passing scenery and hangs her hand out the window, feeling the wind's push and pull.

. . .

It's their last day before the end of the world.

Paul makes her an English breakfast but she hardly touches it. There's little chance she'd be able to keep any of it down. Instead, she focuses on the clock hanging on the wall, listens to the ticks that counts down to their final end. It's nine in the morning. Tik tik tik tik...

"Enough," Paul whispers to her, pulling her away. She lets him take her down to the lake, and together they jump in. The water is cool, even during the blistering hot day. It soothes their heated skin, balms their souls. It's peaceful.

Floating on her back, she's held up by Paul's steady hands. He drifts her around the lake, watching the sun shine on her skin, the way water collects on her lashes, rolls across her arms and torso. Her hair floats around her like a halo. An angel, he thinks.

"My lovely prune," he says, kissing her fingertips.

She drops her legs down and turns upright in the water. Now she leisurely swims backwards, and smiles when Paul follows. "The last three days have been wonderful," she tells him. He captures one of her legs in the water, and pulls her back towards him.

"Ya know, it's kinda funny. I've been happier this week than I've been in years. I mean it, Yaz," he says when she scoffs. "I'd choose these last three days over fifty years without you."

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, hoisting herself up and gently kisses his ear. "Not me," she mumbles, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I'd choose a life with you."

When they're done swimming, they dry off and lay on the grass. Paul brings out a blanket from the cottage, along with some sandwiches. She sits with her back to him, leaning against his chest and framed by his legs. The sky is glowing orange and pink as the sun sets in the distance; it's beautiful. It disappears over the horizon and darkness settles. Their last day is up.

Yasmine finds it difficult to breathe, begins to gasp for breath as fear settles deep in her soul. Paul holds her as he tries to calm her.

"How are you so calm?" she gasps.

"Because I have you," he says simply. "And it's everything I've ever wanted."

Turning towards him, she presses her face into his shoulder, staining his shirt with her tears. "We wasted so much time being stubborn and angry."

"We're here now," he whispers, smoothing her hair down. He stands, pulling her up with him, and guides her back inside. The cottage is warm and comfortable, with carpets and drapes and cushions. It gives them a sense of safety.

Paul leaves her for a moment and then music fills the room. It's an old jazz record, one she remembers showing him when they first started dating. It amazes her that he still has it.

His hand holds her waste, and she sways with him in time to the music.

"We danced to this, back in Liverpool," he says. "Remember?"

"Of course."

"That was a fun night, wasn't it?"

He's nervous, trying to fill the silence with conversation. Yasmine smiles weakly and replies, "One of the best. We were so young then. You used to have so many spots." Touching his face, she traces the scars left behind from his youth.

"You used to stuff your bra."

She can't help it; she falls into a fit of giggles and hides her face in the nook of his neck. It's true. At the time, she had wanted so badly to impress the teddy boy that seemed so much cooler than her.

"You used to sing that song for me," she says once her giggles fade away. "What was it called?"

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby," he sings, voice deepening far below his natural pitch. It makes her laugh again.

The ground begins to tremble beneath her feet. It starts slowly but quickly escalates; she hears something shatter, possibly a picture frame fallen from the wall.

She wants to say she's scared. Instead she says, "I love you, Paul." His arms wrap tightly around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you, baby." His voice shakes and she doesn't have to look at his face to know he's crying. This gives her a boost of courage, and she steels herself, wraps her arms tightly around him, rubs her hands across his back. He won't be alone. She will never leave him alone.

She'll never hear him sing again, she realizes suddenly. But that's okay. Because they have each other now.

I've been happier this week than I've been in years, Paul had said. I'd choose these last three days over fifty years without you. Yasmine agrees.

She's pressing her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, as the house collapses around them.

And the world shatters to pieces, a soundless explosion of color, a tiny dot in infinite space. Where civilizations and lovers once stood, there is nothing but dust, floating and dispersing, leaving little trace of what once existed. But love is not a material thing.

It could never be so easily destroyed.


End file.
